


there'll always be a few things, maybe several things

by incogneat_oh



Series: That One Hug Meme [21]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bed-sharing, Gen, Nightmares, hug meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 07:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12812178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incogneat_oh/pseuds/incogneat_oh
Summary: Tim breaks the silence, half-glancing over his shoulder to murmur, “Pop-culture has taught me that you’re supposed to seek out your parent in the middle of the night. Not your sibling.”“Pop-culture isn’t a perfect teacher, Timmy.”For the prompt, 'clinging'.





	there'll always be a few things, maybe several things

—

Dick is cold and shivery, standing stiffly in the hallway. He’s in a pair of boxers and a shirt of Bruce’s that was mixed in with his laundry two–? no, three years ago that he hasn’t got around to returning. At this point, it is probably more his than it is B’s.

It’s that weird, grey, non-time of the day in that space between night and early morning, where everything feels fuzzy and dissociative. It’s a non-hour, where sounds are sharp and everything else is soft. Dick’s eyes feel gritty and sandy and sore.

It had been one of those nights on patrol, where nothing especially bad had happened, but everything had been inexplicably  _harder_ , rougher. More unpleasant. One of those nights where he’d helped, but not enough. 

And he’s standing there in the middling dark, eyes closed, fist raised to knock. It’s not too late to go back to bed. His own bed. But he already knows, if he goes back now, it’ll be another restless, upset few hours. He’ll toss and he’ll turn and he’ll eventually get back up and find himself back here. And then the situation will repeat, but he’ll be more anxious, more sleep-deprived. More on-edge.

So he exhales something like a sigh, raising his knuckles to drag, more than knock, on Tim’s door. And the kid doesn’t answer, like he expected, so he opens the door as quietly as he can, stepping inside the dark bedroom.

It smells like warmth and sleep and clean laundry, because Alfred had washed the sheets today. Aired out Tim’s room.

And Tim himself is curled on his side, face half-hidden in his pillow. Pressed into the mattress and breathing softly. 

Dick… Dick knows every inch of this house, probably even better than Bruce does, so he knows exactly where to walk to avoid the creaking floorboards, the tired old floors. His feet don’t make a sound, but still, Tim is awake by the time he reaches the bed.

Not noticeably; nothing about him has changed. Not his breathing, his posture. His eyes are still closed. But Dick knows he’s awake, the same way he knows Tim will stay silent for as long as it takes for Dick to get comfortable.

He takes his time about it, slipping very gently under the covers, easing into place beside his little brother. Curls up at his back, cautiously laying an arm over Tim’s chest. And the kid still doesn’t move.

Dick breathes in, out. Measured.  _Manual_. Acutely aware of every sensation, from the lingering warmth of the sheets to the smell of Tim’s shampoo-and-skin. The feel of a logo on Tim’s shirt, rough on the skin of Dick’s arm. 

And then Tim breaks the silence, half-glancing over his shoulder to murmur, “Pop-culture has taught me that you’re supposed to seek out your  _parent_ in the middle of the night. Not your sibling.” 

“Pop-culture isn’t a perfect teacher, Timmy,” Dick says, more sad than wry. The words are heavy on his tongue.

And they lie there in silence for a while before Tim asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dick closes his eyes, seeing again the image he hasn’t been able to shake since he woke up.  _Tim, bloodied. Glassy eyes, visibly broken bones. Sprawled dead and alone and forgotten on the sidewalk, like a discarded toy._

The nightmares are always so much more vivid on nights like these.

And Dick shakes his head, wordless, pressing his face carefully against the back of Tim’s neck. Feels the tickle of too-long hair against his nose, the heat of warm skin. And he’s so,  _so_ glad that the kid stayed over tonight.

It takes a minute, but eventually, Tim’s hand comes up to squeeze at his forearm. 

They lie that way for a long time, Dick pressed close against Tim, until– “You know how much I love you, right?”

And, “Yeah, Dick.”  _Squeeze_. “I know.” And there’s something in Tim’s voice that’s tired beyond his years. Something indefinably sad. 

Dick exhales. He is proud and aching, and only just starting to relax. Tim is more limp than relaxed, hand still steady on his arm. Gentle, inconsistent pressure, thumb rubbing absently over the bone. 

Eventually, tone lighter, Tim says; “Did you need me to check your closet for monsters?”

There’s a breath like laughter that rumbles through his chest, that he knows Tim can feel. And he murmurs, “If that was all, I’d’ve gone to Damian. Kid’s room is full of swords.” And when Tim stays silent, Dick says, “A little monster killing could only mellow him out, probably.”

And Tim murmurs something like agreement, quiet and still, and Dick thinks  _screw it,_ says, “I’m so glad you’re here, Timbo.” 

Here at the Manor. Here in Gotham.  _Alive_. 

All of the above.

“Yeah,” Tim says, again, pressing his face further into the pillow. 

And Dick squeezes Tim, says, “It’s okay if I stay, right?”

Tim half-shrugs out of his grip, rolling over in the bed. Then, shifting a little closer, letting Dick wrap his arms tightly again, he smiles a little, settling back into the sheets. “Of course, Dick,” he says lightly. “We’re brothers.”

And Dick closes his eyes; the afterimage of his nightmare is still too-bright on the backs of his eyelids, but the press of Tim’s cheek against his chest is helping. He feels his lips tilt up at the corners, involuntarily, and now, he thinks, he can sleep.

 

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Up the Wolves" by The Mountain Goats; _there'll always be a few things, maybe several things / that you're gonna find really difficult to forgive._
> 
> This fic is also on [tumblr.](http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/83105991745/14-brotherly-tim-and-dick-while-tim-is-still)


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